


here comes the spark

by finkpishnets



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: It’s taken Will barely any time at all to sink under Paul’s skin, and, sure, there’s always been that lingering jolt of attraction, the memory of possiblesomethings, but it’s not the same as this.Paul’s tried so hard not to let it happen, but even recent heartbreak can’t drown out the fond, pleased hum that’s settled against his bones and in his lungs, getting stronger every time Will looks at him and doesn’t turn away, like Paul’s worth the attention.Like Paul’s all he sees.[Or: Will and Paul play mini golf, get drunk, share a bed, and fall a little bit in love, in that order.]





	here comes the spark

 

 

**~**

 

 

“You know,” Will says, sliding into the seat opposite Paul with a grin, “you look like you’ve been stood up.”

Paul rolls his eyes, and doesn’t bother pretending to be surprised by Will’s presence.

“That’s because I _have_ ,” he says, tapping his nails against his empty coffee cup. “My brother has no time management skills whatsoever.”

“Ah,” Will says, nodding seriously even as his lips twitch. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Paul says, because it’s the truth, and maybe because he likes the way Will’s eyes light up in challenge at the words.

“You’re right,” Will says. “I’m not. Let’s do something.”

It’s so like Will — _this_ Will, anyway, the one with the clear eyes and the free smile and the mischief that dances over his lips and doesn’t come glossed with guilt — to just assume that Paul can drop everything to keep him entertained. Like Paul doesn’t have a job and responsibilities and errands…

Will quirks an eyebrow and waits.

“Like what?” Paul says eventually, and knows he’s given in even before Will laughs.

“You have a car, right?” Will says, already pushing his chair back. “Let’s go and find an adventure.”

 

 

**~**

 

 

Will’s shoulders relax as soon as they’re out of Salem; Paul knows these last few months have been tough on him — _of course_ they have — but it’s strange to see the weight of it shifting so clearly in his physicality. He’s practically sprawled in the passenger seat, humming along to the radio, and he looks younger than Paul ever remembers seeing him.

It’s nice, and it’s sad, and the protective surge that Paul feels should probably be more of a surprise.

“Oh, hey,” Will says, “mini golf!”

Sure enough, there’s a sign for the next exit, and Paul takes it, following the winding road to a white painted farm house and parking up next to a hut with opening times pinned to the hatch. He grabs his coat from the trunk and throws an extra pair of gloves at Will.

“They might not be open,” he says, realistically. “I think off season applies to any time that requires snow gear.” 

Will frowns, heading over the hut, and then smiles when someone waves at them from the path leading up to the farm house.

“Hi,” Will says, all happy charm. “You’re not closed, right?”

“If you’re willing to brave the cold, I’m willing to let ya,” the woman says, unlocking the hatch and passing them clubs and balls. “Just leave these back here when you’re done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Will says, and smiles at Paul until Paul hands over the money for two rounds.

“Oh, I see,” Paul says, “I’m just here to pay for your golfing needs.”

“Damn straight, Mr Retired Professional Baseball Player,” Will says. “You’re lucky I’m not making you caddy for me, too.”

The course itself is relatively small and clearly mostly hand-made; the windmill creaks as it turns and the small stream has frozen over, and for some reason the whole thing’s been decorated with a mismatch of plastic animals, ranging from sheep and cows to flamingos and—

“ _Cool_ ,” Will says. “A T-Rex. My kinda farm. Hey, let’s take a picture!” 

He digs his phone out, and Paul obediently poses for a selfie in front of a dinosaur twice his size, trying not to pay too much attention to the way Will slings an arm over his shoulders and presses against him, cheeks too close as he tries to get everything in the frame.

“Yeah,” Will says, stepping back and smiling down at his phone, “that’s definitely my new lock screen.”

“Alright, alright,” Paul says, and can’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it. “Stop stalling and let me kick your ass at mini golf already.”

Will blinks up at him and his smile twists into something dangerous.

“Oh,” he says, “it’s on.”

 

 

**~**

 

 

Will’s cheeks are pink from the cold, hair swept all over the place, and Paul’s laughing so hard he’s having to lean on his club for balance.

“I can’t believe you killed Daisy,” he says, trying to catch his breath, and Will blinks at the fallen plastic cow sadly, before frowning down at his club like he can’t understand why it would betray him this way.

It’s _adorable_ , and Paul reaches for his phone to take a string of pictures before Will notices.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for Paul’s hand, “nuh-uh, nope.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Paul says, ducking out of his grip. “It’s my job to document the crime.”

“Stop being mean to the amnesiac,” Will says, managing to grab Paul’s arm as Paul holds the phone over both their heads.

“Oh, I see,” Paul says, standing on his tiptoes, “this is a cover-up.”

“I’ll show _you_ a cover-up,” Will says, and tackles Paul to the ground. They land with a thud, and Paul’s too busy laughing to notice the pain, just glad they didn’t end up in the icy stream, Will sprawled over him, knee between his as he makes a final reach for the phone.

“Aha!” Will says, grinning in triumph before he looks down and notices their position and his eyes go dark. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Paul says, and then: “Before you try and make this sexy, I’m pretty sure I’m lying on my club.”

Will rolls his eyes and stands up, reaching for Paul’s hand. “Even _I_ have more shame than to roll with an innuendo _that_ easy.”

“Wait,” Paul says, blinking innocently, “you have _shame?_ ”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Will says, “and also that I have absolutely no memory of playing mini golf. We should have instated a handicap.” 

“You _are_ the handicap,” Paul says, rubbing at the bruise already forming at the bottom of his spine, and Will grins, looking pleased.

“Come on,” Will says, “we’ll call it a draw due to injury.”

Paul narrows his eyes. “Too cold to play anymore, huh?”

“Yes,” Will says, cheerfully. “It is fucking _freezing_. Also I’m starving, so you should buy me dinner.”

Paul fakes a sigh. “I know, you only want me for my money.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Will says, shaking his head and prodding Paul in the chest. “I want you for your money _and_ your body. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Paul pushes him into the T-Rex and doesn’t stop laughing at his offended yelp until they’re back on the highway.

 

 

**~**

 

 

They drive another forty minutes before Will tells him to turn off, picking a town name he likes the sound of and checking his phone for the cheapest parking zone. It’s a good call; there’s a street lined with restaurants and bars, and enough people to classify it as a hotspot. 

Will seems pleased, and Paul can’t blame him. It’s easy to fall into the trap of forgetting life outside Salem exists; _hell_ , Paul’s been more places than most, and he can’t even remember the last time he thought to take a drive outside of the town limits unless it involved a case.

Paul spots a sports bar at the end of the block, and they push through the crowds waiting for a table and head straight for the stools at the counter. The barman’s happy to let them eat there, so they order burgers and onion rings and beer on tap, and Paul’s nostalgia feels comforting as he turns to watch the nearest screen, even if hockey’s never been his game.

“Do you still talk to your old teammates much?” Will asks, drawing shapes through the condensation on his glass with one hand and propping his chin up with the other.

It’s a fair question but Paul’s surprised by it all the same, and surprised by his answer more. He’d kept his distance after he first came out, testing the waters, but the ones he’d always considered friends had texted and called and generally been the good guys he shouldn’t have had to doubt they’d be, and he’d stayed in touch even when he’d settled down in Salem and started working with his dad.

Somewhere along the line, though, even that had fizzled out, and Paul’s not naive enough not to be able place the whens and whys; in hindsight, the fact that not a single ex-teammate had been invited to the wedding-that-wasn’t probably spoke volumes, and it’s a sharp reminder of the shift his life’s taken in the last few years.

“No,” he says, realizing he’s been quiet too long. “Uh, not for over a year now.”

“Your choice or theirs?” Will asks carefully, and Paul smiles at his ability to switch between overly blunt and sweetly tactful depending on the mood.

“Mine, I guess,” he says. “I should probably do something about that.”

“Text them,” Will says, leaning closer. “Ohh, see when their first game of the season is! We could road trip it!”

Paul laughs. “It’ll probably be in California,” he says. “You’re a great guy, Will, but I don’t like anyone enough to make that journey in a car without being paid for it.”

“…I’m being really good and not making the obvious joke here,” Will says. “But, yeah, I get that. So, one closer to home, then. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never been to a live game before…”

“Oh, man,” Paul says, thinking about the sun on his neck, the roar of the crowd, the smell of hot dogs and popcorn and dust, “that’s just _tragic_. Now I _have_ to get us tickets.” 

Will smiles smugly, sitting back in his stool, and Paul can’t even bring himself to freak out about making plans for so far in the future.

It’s taken Will barely any time at all to sink under Paul’s skin, and, sure, there’s always been that lingering jolt of attraction, the memory of possible _somethings_ , but it’s not the same as this.

Paul’s tried so hard not to let it happen, but even recent heartbreak can’t drown out the fond, pleased hum that’s settled against his bones and in his lungs, getting stronger every time Will looks at him and doesn’t turn away, like Paul’s worth the attention.

Like Paul’s all he sees.

It’s overwhelming.

He calls the bartender for another round, and laughs in agreement when Will reaches for the dessert menu, ordering them the biggest sundaes they serve with challenge in his eyes, and, _hell_ , Paul played professional sport for a living, he’s the last person to turn down a bit of healthy competition.

(If it’s the most fun he’s had in a long time, well, he’s not going to turn that down, either.)

 

 

**~**

 

 

“I sink this,” Will says, cocking his hip against the table and lifting his cue, “and we get shots.”

“I’m driving,” Paul reminds him, eyeing the pool balls and wondering how he can be losing this badly.

Will smirks like he can read Paul’s mind. “I worked in a bar, remember? I may not know how to do much, but _this_ I can do.” He grabs the chalk. “We’re parked in an all-nighter and there’s at least a couple of motels around here. Unless you have something you need to get back to…?”

From anyone else it would be cruel, a sharp reminder of Paul’s current situation, but the way Will’s watching him — the way Will’s _always_ watching him — is nothing short of brutally honest.

He’s not saying _‘You’re alone’_ , he’s saying _‘What’s stopping you having a little fun?’_ and—

_Well._

He’s right.

“Okay,” Paul says. “Sure. But I choose the shots.”

“Deal,” Will says, and his smile is bright, his eyes never leaving Paul’s as he bends lower over the table to make his play. 

Paul’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Will’s smile turns dangerous.

He sinks the black, and Paul can’t even pretend to be disappointed.

Back at the bar he orders tequila, reaching for the salt when the bartender passes it over, and Will’s eyes flash approvingly. It’s a conscious choice on Paul’s part, not his usual shot of choice — a waste of good alcohol, if it’s top shelf, and just damn gross if it’s not — but the tone of the evening lends itself to risky choices, and he’s not going to let Will take charge of _everything_ tonight.

Will finds him attractive, he knows that.

But this Will? This Will’s never seen him put in any effort.

Paul’s already anticipating his response.

He picks up his glass and keeps watching Will as he licks a stripe of salt from his wrist, bringing the glass to his lips and hesitating a moment before drinking, tracking Will’s gaze as it drops to his throat, watching him swallow.

Will’s cheeks are flushed, and when he catches Paul’s eye, he looks hot and bothered.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, deep and breathless, and making Paul’s toes curl in his boots.

It kinda feels like winning.

 

 

**~**

 

 

They stay until closing, going back to beer and safer ground, and talking about nothing and everything, cheering at every goal scored and ordering a second round of dessert before the kitchen can close, Will laughing when Paul insists he’ll have to run it off in the morning. 

(“Please. You are _literally_ Adonis,” Will says, spinning in his stool and barely managing to stay upright. “You’re the real-life, modern day David.”

“Don’t whitewash me,” Paul says with a grin, and Will laughs so hard he _does_ fall off his stool, waving away the barman when he comes to check on him.)

They get directions to the first walkable hotel, and Paul almost trips over his own feet crossing the road as Will holds him upright. It’s ridiculous and hilarious and Paul barely pulls himself together enough to get them a room, passing over his credit card to the disinterested receptionist, and keeping a hand on Will’s shoulder until they’ve found the right floor.

The door closes behind them, and Paul’s had a good day — a _really_ good day — and he’s drunk enough not to second guess himself when he tugs Will close and kisses him.

Will kisses back immediately, melting into it, but when Paul’s fingers slide under the hem of his shirt he steps away, putting some distance between them with a shake of his head.

Paul blinks and feels the world shift a little under his feet.

“What—?” he starts, but Will cuts him off.

“No, Paul, don’t think— I _want_ to, you _know_ how much I… You’re drunk. We’re _both_ drunk. And I know _I_ won’t regret it in the morning, but I don’t know _you_ won’t, and I just…” He takes a deep breath, pressing the palms of his hands against Paul’s chest and offering him a small, regretful smile. “I need you not to regret it.”

“Oh,” Paul says, placing his hands over Will’s. “Okay.”

“Good,” Will says, taking a few deep breaths, and Paul’s ego can’t help but sing with the effort it’s taking him to calm down from nothing but a kiss. “I kinda hate myself, but I’m going to have to stop touching you now.”

Paul squeezes his hands once, and then lets him pull away. He _knows_ Will’s right, and it just makes everything feel that much more real and that much more terrifying.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” he says, forcing some rationality through his clouded brain, and Will smiles ruefully and shakes his head.

“I mean, no? I’d— This is going to sound really cheesy and I’m blaming it on the tequila, but I’d kinda like to make the most of this romance novel trope and share? If that’s cool?”

“Yeah,” Paul says, clearing his throat when it comes out sounding choked. “Yeah. We can do that.”

They take turns washing up, and Paul’s debating how many layers to strip down to when Will comes out of the bathroom in his boxers and undershirt. Paul blinks at his biceps for a good ten seconds before he strips out of his own jeans and unbuttons his shirt until he’s left in his tank top, and then slips under the sheets before he can freak out.

Will crawls in next to him, and they’re not touching anywhere but it still feels overwhelmingly intimate. 

“Hi,” Will says. The curtains aren’t pulled completely closed, and the streetlight illuminates the side of his face as he watches Paul from his side of the bed. Paul’s always been attracted to him, since the _first_ first time they met, but ever since he came back to life and back to Salem it’s been a constant low-level ache he’s tried so hard to ignore.

He’s not ignoring it now — there’s no point — and _God_ , Will’s beautiful.

Will ducks his head against his pillow and Paul realizes he’s said that aloud.

“Thanks,” Will says, voice muffled but smile obvious, and Paul resists the urge to reach out and push his hair back from where it’s fallen into his eyes.

“Goodnight,” Paul says, and sounds impossibly fond to his own ears.

“Night,” Will says. “And, hey, Paul?” He waits until Paul turns to face him. “Thanks for my adventure.”

“You’re welcome,” Paul says, and lets his knee press closer, just a little, until they’re barely touching.

 

 

**~**

 

 

The morning’s as awkward as expected, both of them fighting pounding heads and parched throats and not talking about how they’d woken up with their legs tangled and lips a breath apart. They rush through check-out and take three attempts at remembering where they’d parked, and Paul digs a bottle of Advil out the side of his door as Will goes to grab them coffee from a nearby kiosk.

By the time they’re on the road, Paul’s feeling a little more human, and when he glances over at Will, he’s staring down at his phone, smiling softly. Paul feels a flash of… _something_ — low dose hurt or jealousy or fear — until they stop at a light and he realizes it’s the picture Will took yesterday of the two of them in front of the plastic T-Rex, and his heart suddenly feels two sizes too big.

“You should send me that,” he says, voice too low and too rough.

“Okay,” Will says, eyes darting up to meet Paul’s, and it’s _that_ look again, the one he’s getting used to seeing and isn’t sure he’ll ever get enough of, pleasure and promise and warmth and something he’s not unravelled yet.

By the time they’re home, standing in the shared hallway between their apartments, Paul’s expecting things to become weird, but Will just leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek, still wearing Paul’s spare pair of gloves and looking ruffled with his hangover.

Paul waits until Will’s door shuts behind him and then fumbles with his key before collapsing face first on his bed, groaning into the comforter. 

He’s so screwed.

He spends the rest of they day napping and showering and half-heartedly looking over work, and then spends twenty minutes just staring at all the pictures he took yesterday, stopping on one of Will’s pouting face looking at the fallen plastic cow in despair, club still raised.

Paul doesn’t really use social media much these days, but—

He uploads the picture to Instagram before he can overthink it, captions it: _‘When your date involves accidental bovine homicide.’_ and puts his phone down on his bedside table before he can obsess.

(When he checks five minutes later, shaking his head at himself, Will’s name’s the first on a long list of ‘likes’.

He follows Will back and turns his phone off, and wonders when he became fifteen again.)

 

 

**~**

 

 

Paul doesn’t see Will again before the weekend. He’s not avoiding him, but there’s a new case that isn’t as open and shut as it first appears, and Brady finally remembers they were planning to catch up and then proceeds to rant for three hours about all the people he currently hates whilst Paul zones out and thinks fondly of the days when his family consisted of his mom and his grandpa. Brady eventually realizes Paul doesn’t actually want to hear about the Titan drama and takes him out for pizza to make up for it, and then John and Marlena invite him over, and Kayla asks for his help with some DIY around the house, and by the time Saturday rolls around, his unexpected day off seems like a lifetime ago.

He’s checked Instagram once since his upload, and as well as a truly ridiculous amount of ‘likes’ — _thanks_ baseball fans — Will’s uploaded their selfie along with a picture Paul hadn’t realized he’d taken of him at the bar; he’s in profile, beer half-raised, laughing at something, and he looks stupidly happy. Will’s captioned them with a string of emojis — dinosaur, snowflake, beer, heart — and Paul hates that he can feel the flush climb up his cheeks over a string of pictograms.

On Saturday morning he goes for a run, showers, and then stands in the middle of his room and wonders when his life became this predictable.

He grabs his coat and keys and goes to knock on Will’s door.

“Hey,” Will says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, flirtatious and easy and happy.

“Hey,” Paul says. “Wanna go find an adventure?”

“Yes,” Will says, standing up straight, and Paul doesn’t think it’s an exaggeration to say he looks thrilled. “Let me just grab my coat.”

“Great,” Paul says, and steps closer. “But first—”

The sound Will makes when Paul kisses him sets Paul’s skin aflame, and he raises his palms to Will’s cheeks and feels young and reckless and delirious, burning under the bite of Will’s fingers on his hips. Paul’s so used to being careful, to not rocking the boat, but the weekend’s spread out before them and Will’s kisses are bruising, and Paul’s finally ready to let go.

He has no idea what the future holds, good or bad, but either way?

He thinks he could get used to the adventure.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me about these beautiful sunshine nerds on [tumblr](http://madroxed.tumblr.com/) any time.


End file.
